Side By Side
by tonystarks
Summary: What happens when you can't differ reality from hallucinations? Why does is feel so different, yet familiar somehow? These are things Sam considers as he searches for his missing, now demon, brother. What the Hell is even happening to Sam?


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**Summary**: what happens when you can't differ reality from hallucinations? Why does is feel so different, yet familiar somehow? These are things Sam considers as he searches for his missing, now demon, brother. At what point will we be able to understand what the hell is even happening?

**A/N:** Will be at the end of the chapter so I don't make this too long.

**Warnings**: This is NOT a happy fic. There will be: Gore. Blood and knives and cutting of skin. Hallucinations, slight abuse. Excessive of alcohol. Panic attacks. Major character death.

Sam Winchester is alone.

Sam doesn't use that term often. Alone is a very strong word for him, not to be used loosely. He rarely considered himself "alone", considering the fact that Dean was practically always with him. From the day his mother died and until he became a demon, Dean barely left Sam's side. In fact, Sam had _wanted_ to be isolated sometimes, desperately feeling the need to get away.

He could easily list the times he truly believed he was alone; When Dean went to what he later found out was Sonny's place, for example. Dean was gone for three months.

When Dean died the first time. After he sold his soul for Sam, he was gone. For months.

Sam was alone.

The third time was when Dean died again. Gabriel had made him watch Dean die multiple times-then on that damned Wednesday, Dean died. For good. And Sam felt lonely.

He was alone once more.

The fourth time was after Dean and Castiel got stuck in purgatory. Sam hadn't wanted to admit it, but it was the truth. An entire year without Dean or Castiel? Yeah, that was tough. Even when he met Amelia, she was just never... _enough_. He used her as a distraction, much like she did him. But the end of the day, she had someone to return to.

Sam hadn't. And he was alone. Again.

Thinking about this made Sam cringe. Dean could probably list many more experiences in which he'd felt alone, or hell, even _abandoned_ by Sam. Beginning with the time Sam went to live in his own little cottage with his golden retriever, and then, of course, when Sam left to Standford. He didn't even want to remember the times after that.

Yet here he was now, doing exactly that. Because right now, Sam was alone for the fifth time in his life.

Truthfully, Sam could not decide whether this was time felt any more or less painful. Should it feel more painful because of the fact that Dean became a demon before he left? But then again, at least he left _because_ he was a demon, and not just a pissed human Dean who was angry with Sam.

Either way, it hurt.

And Sam couldn't hide it this time. He had no Amelia to use as a distraction, he had no Jess to fall in love with. He had no Gabriel to magically reverse the whole thing. This time, it hurt. And Sam finally allowed himself to admit it.

At this point, Sam was not even aware whether he was sober or drunk anymore. He felt himself regaining his senses, slowly, as he tried to focus on reality again. But reality _hurt_. And Sam wanted to just live in his memories, to bring them all back. He didn't want reality.

He heard something loud, then. It was far away, but he could hear it. Ringing. He opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh light. He began to push himself up in the seat, in which he was lying down in.

A bottle of beer slipped from his right hand, falling to the ground in a loud shatter. Sam groaned as it sent shrills through his ears, causing his headache to spike. How drunk _was_ he?

He began to rub his temple warily, slowly sobering up. He heard the loud ringing again, suddenly realizing it was much closer than he'd expected the first time. He looked around himself, feeling unbalanced, before he located his cell phone-which was right in front of his hand, by the way.

_Fucking idiot_, he thought to himself. In reality, he felt like a hypocrite. All these years begging Dean to stop drinking, to let out his feelings healthily, and now here he was. Doing exactly what Dean did. Though, he had to admit, he really took it to the next level. He doesn't recall Dean getting this drunk. At least not this often.

When the cell phone continued to ring for what felt like _hours_, Sam reluctantly picked up, answering.

"Who's callin'?" He slurred. His voice came out weak, so he cleared his throat immediately. Then he continued to drawl, "Why'd you call so many times? Is it urgent?"

There was a temporary silence on the other end.

"Sam? Are you alright? I... I only called once."

Well, shit. It was Castiel. Sam chuckled bitterly.

"Cas? You're _alive_? Wow, never thought I'd hear from you again," he mumbled, "'bout damn time you spoke."

He heard Castiel let out a soft exhale on the other end. "I am sorry, Sam. I know I should have called earlier... I just..." He broke off, coughing abruptly. Sam winced. "...I have been dealing with some errands with the angels. I'm sorry." His voice broke as he apologized.

"Yeah. S'good."

"I know I should have visited you earlier. I just... I am not sure if I can deal with Dean's..." Castiel let out a soft gasp, "death."

Sam was silent. He furrowed his eyebrows, then raised them, trying to decipher what Castiel just said. He must have been silent for too long, though, because Castiel's voice sounded urgently.

"Sam? Are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-to trigger you." Castiel said urgently, truly sounding sorry.

Sam found himself laughing.

A real, wholehearted laugh.

Dear God, he hadn't laughed that hard in _ages_.

"Wha?" He managed to say before he threw his head back, laughing harder.

"Sam?" Castiel asked, sounding worried now.

"Dean's not dead." Sam said matter-of-factly. Was Cas for real?

"I... what?" Cas breathed out, relieved. "Really?"

Sam laughed again, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, didn't you hear? He died, then he woke up, again. To be honest, it's not the first time we do that. We never die for good."

"That's-that's great, Sam! I will try to visit you both as soon as I can. Is Dean alright? Does he have any injuries or-"

Sam picked up another bottle of alcohol, fidgeting with it. "I dunno." He admitted. "Haven't seen him since."

"Since what?" Prodded Cas.

"Since he showed up with black eyes."

"Did someone... punch him? On his eyes?"

"Dammit, Cas! Black eyes. Demon black."

Castiel went quiet for several minutes. Sam began to dose off again.

Then, Castiel's voice came in a soft "...oh.".

Sam began to hear Castiel speak up loudly, worriedly, and he was just too tired for it. Too damn tired. He hung up, proceeding to push the phone away before he put his head down on the table and closed his eyes.

It couldn't have been too long after, Sam was sure of that. In fact, he felt like he hadn't even fallen asleep yet. But when he heard the voice, he realized he must have dozed off faster than he expected. And now he was dreaming.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam stilled. Should he move? Reply? Maybe he should just continue to keep his head down, and hopefully the dream will end soon.

"Sam, it's me. I know you're awake." Dean was whispering in, an oddly, soft manner. "Come on, baby brother. Didn't you miss me?"

Then, of all the things that could happen, Sam felt a _hand_ run down his back. He felt himself shiver at the touch; a soothing touch, much like the one Dean used to always give him when he was feeling down. He inhaled deeply, but refused to open his eyes. He needed this dream. If only Dean was still this kind in real life.

The hand on his back continued massaging him softly for a little while, and Sam would be lying if he said he knew how long it was. Suddenly, however, the hand was gone, along with the touch. Sighing softly into his arms was the last thing Sam remembered.

The next few days were a blur. Sam followed a routine; he would wake up (more often than not being hungover), take a shower, make some coffee, then sit down to do research. At this point, he wasn't quite sure what he was even researching anymore, but he kept opening up those books, reading and rereading passages about demons and the mark of Cain until he gave up on it.

Somewhere between there, he'd find himself grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel's to help himself sleep.

He was ashamed, to be quite honest. Ashamed that he had let himself reach this state, this position. He was ashamed of how much of a hypocrite he felt; this drinking, locking himself up… it was everything he told Dean not to do.

But he didn't have much of a choice! They'd been through this many, many times. But Dean was now a demon. A demon. Hell, Sam should be _hunting_ him right now. Who knew how much damage Dean had already cost? What if he's already killed civilians, traded souls?

It just felt like… a dead end.

And yet Sam kept trying. He kept trying to read up on curing a demon. He considered finishing the trials for once and for all—Dean would be cured, but Sam would die. Sam honestly had no issue with this, but he knew that if that were to happen, then they would just repeat the same cycle over again: one brother gets in trouble, the other saves him…. and so on and so forth.

Sam wasn't really sure he was willing to do that.

If he died in order to cure Dean, he knew that somehow Dean will end up trying to revive him. Again. That, or Dean will drown himself in alcohol until he lost track of time. Which was, ironically, exactly what Sam was doing now.

Today, however, was different. Today, Sam had new plans.

Screw waiting for Cas to call him. Screw waiting for Dean to show up. If Sam wanted any of this to end well, he'd have to move his ass and get something done. So, that is exactly what he did. As soon as he finished his shower, he picked up his abandoned phone and dialed Castiel's number.

It rang several times before Castiel picked up. "Hello, Sam."

Sam's eyes widened a little before he frowned at Castiel's voice. It was extremely hoarse, extremely light, and seemed to be losing the gravelly, thick aspect of it. Cas hadn't sounded like this the last time they spoke. Which reminded Sam: when _was_ the last time they spoke?

"Uh, hey, Cas. You alright?" Sam asked, allowing his concern to show. "You sound horrible."

Castiel cleared his throat. "Yes, I… I have been having some complications. What about you? Last we spoke you sounded very out of it. Are you any better now?"

Sam sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just… this is a little hard to take on, you know? It's the last thing I expected." He let out a bitter chuckle. "We became hunters because a demon ruined our life, and now Dean's a demon? I don't even know anymore. Should I be hunting him down? Do I just… forget him?"

"No, Sam, we can't forget Dean. He may be a demon now, but I'm sure we can figure out a way to—" Cas broke off with a loud, painful cough. He took nearly a minute before he could muster speaking again. "We can figure out a way to cure him."

Sam nodded to himself. "I've been trying to do some research on that. Though, to be honest, I'm not sure I was even sober half of the time. Are you gonna come over so we can figure this out?"

Cas was quiet for a moment, and Sam could hear his sharp breathing. "Sam… Sam, I will gladly work with you on what I can, but I…"

"You what, Cas?" Sam prodded, feeling his little bubble of hope beginning to burst.

"I am not sure I am in a fit position to do that."

"What do you mean?"

Castiel sounded pleading when he spoke. "Sam, I lost my grace. This borrowed grace is running out on me. Some days I can barely stand up at all. I have tried to borrow another grace, but it is not possible for me to inhibit more than one grace at a time. And by the time this one is fully out of my system…"

"You'll be dead."

"…Yes." Cas breathed out.

"Oh fucking Christ…" Sam cursed under his breath, closing his eyes. "Is there anything I can do to help you at all?"

"I'm afraid not, Sam. Just… please, focus on Dean for now. I am unsure how much angels can do to try and cure a demon, but I will try to see if there is anything that can help us." Castiel reassured him. "And Sam? I promise you that I will try to come to the bunker as soon as I am able to."

Sam felt his eyes sting. Now, don't get him wrong. Sam wasn't really one to cry; that was usually Dean's job. But at times like this, it was really, really hard for him to keep his eyes from watering. Especially after he'd woken with the intention to be productive today, to do _something. _The last thing he expected was for him to hear even worse news from Castiel.

"Yeah, okay bud. I'll call you later." He managed to say.

Once he hung up, Sam flung the phone onto the couch across the room. He ran both hands through his hair, telling himself to _breathe_. He began to pace around the room.

Cas was dying? _Dying_?

Sam let out a growl of frustration as he clenched his hands around locks of his hair. Couldn't he get anything done right? The one day he decided to try and—and _fix_ this, he realized that the only person left who might support him… was dying.

This meant that Sam Winchester was officially alone.

He couldn't even bring himself to say "again". This wasn't again. Sam had never been alone like this. Even when Cas and Dean were in purgatory, Sam had Amelia. He had Kevin to search for if he so desired.

But Kevin was dead.

_I killed him, _Sam thought suddenly.

Sam began trembling lightly at the memory of Gadreel's hands—_his_ hands—reaching out and… and killing Kevin, burning his eyes until he fell to the ground in a lifeless heap and he just—he just left him—he left him to die at the hands of the angels inside _his_ body and he hadn't done anything—

_Breathe._

At one point, Sam found himself on the ground, kneeling down with his arms over his head. He could still feel himself trembling, and this time there was no one to help him through his panic attack, not after Dean left. Not after he became a demon. Because Sam was now _alone_, he was—

"—_Alone._" Sam wasn't exactly aware how long he'd been speaking his thoughts out loud, but his voice broke at the last word. He slid down the wall behind him, sitting down on the ground. His eyes were still closed, arms over his head.

_Pathetic_, he thought, _fucking pathetic_. _If you'd just finished the trials. If you'd finished them and died, you'd have saved Dean from all of this. You did this to Dean. You let him go to Metatron alone—you got there too late—You were too weak to go and stop him from getting the mark to begin with—all your damn fault—_

_Breathe, Sammy._

Sam shuddered. Someone was telling him to breathe. Breathe. He could do that, right? He began to focus on his breathing, try to inhale deeply and exhale slowly.

"_That's right, Sam. Breathe_."

Sam pulled whatever strength he had left and raised his head slowly, looking to his left.

Dean was kneeling down beside him, smiling softly. He nodded. "It's me, Sam. Look at me—I'm here, okay? You're not alone. You'll never be alone again. I never left you."

Sam looked at him in a puzzled expression, much like the one Dean usually called a puppy face.

"Dean?" He whispered.

"Really, Sammy? Of course it's me, no one else would look this good." Dean replied, grinning. He clasped his hand around Sam's shoulder. "Come on, get up."

Dean reached out with one hand, which Sam hesitantly grabbed onto, before hoisting both of them up. Sam was still dazed; he stared at Dean—the _image_ of Dean, he reminded himself—as he tried to comprehend what was happening.

_Well, Sammy, look at yourself. Imagining your own damn brother. Is this what you've come to? _Sam thought to himself.

He walked slowly to the table, pulling the seat outwards with shaky hands. He sat down, resting on it. Dean was still standing next to him, seemingly uninterested in sitting down. Sam kept his gaze downwards, staring holes into the table. Maybe if he focused enough Dean would go away.

But Dean wasn't going away. He was just standing, as still as a statue, looking down at Sam. Waiting. Sam closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

"Hey, Sam, I know you're feeling crappy." Dean began, his voice steady and low. "But you're not alone, I'm here. Remember, Sammy, I'm always here. You just gotta call for me."

_Yeah, because you're in my head_, Sam scoffed inwardly.

"Just because I don't live here doesn't mean I'm not here." Dean repeated. "You know, Sammy, this can all go away. Feeling tired, depressed, helpless… You don't have to experience it. Not when you can stop it."

Sam allowed his eyes to shift sideways, looking in Dean's general direction. Dean seemed to notice this act of interest, so he pulled a chair and sat across from Sam, looking more intent.

"It feels so much better, I can tell you that." Continued Dean. "I can still remember the guilt I used to feel. The hate. Depression. And I'm so glad I put that behind me. You should too, Sam."

"How?" Sam rasped, still unwilling to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean smiled slowly, reaching his arm out. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing a glowing Mark of Cain.

Sam finally looked up and met Dean's eyes.

They were black.

"Like this, Sammy. You can join me. We can be brothers again, fighting side by side. You don't have to make yourself suffer." Dean explained in a gravelly voice. He pulled out a small knife from his pocket, letting it hover over his extended wrist. "Just like the good old days with Ruby. Except this time, you'll be feeding from the king of Hell."

Sam's eyes widened. He looked away from Dean, back to the table, and clenched his hands around his head. _Was_ this what he wanted? He wasn't exactly surprised by the hallucination, to be honest. He'd been focusing so hard on wanting to be with Dean again that he never really considered how it could happen.

_And because you're a damn freak, you had to imagine him giving you demon blood. Because you've always been a freak, haven't you? Always the child born to drink demon blood. Always the child born to be evil._ He thought, eyes scrunching. _You'll never be good enough. You'll always be the freak—_

Dean hadn't moved while Sam was having his internal breakdown. He simply kept the blade ready, ghosting over his wrist, eyes settled on Sam. His gaze wasn't sharp, or challenging… it wasn't even evil. It was just… _Dean_.

"I…" Sam opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. He fiddled with a book nervously, trying to inhale deeply. "I don't…"

Before Sam could stutter any further, a loud knock sounded from the entrance of the bunker. Sam jumped in his seat, startled, and immediately turned to look in the direction of the knocking. When the knock came again, Sam hesitantly pushed himself up, looking over to see what Dean was going to do.

Except Dean wasn't there.

Sam blinked several times, looking at the empty seat. There was no Dean. No opportunity to make things feel good again.

_I am officially going insane_.

—

**A/N**:

This idea was mostly Sara's ( .com). She and I were discussing headcanons when we decided on this very painful idea and here I am, writing. She is also my beta for this fic. Loosely based off our textpost which I will link by the end of this fic because it may cause spoilers ;)

Believe it or not, this is not meant to be wincest. Some scenes may have felt like that, I know. If you wanna see them as wincest—by all means, go ahead! But there won't be any actual wincest in this.

I tried my best to not make this be ooc. I hope you don't find it out of character!

**Please leave some reviews, favs and follows? :)**


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